


Reflected

by lime_green_socks



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Young Dutch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 17:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11972541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lime_green_socks/pseuds/lime_green_socks
Summary: Set Post 1x06 One BloodDutch remembers a lesson Khlyen taught her as a child, and how time changes perceptions.





	Reflected

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of fanfiction.   
> Comments are appreciated, but know I do realize this is not the best piece of writing ever done.  
> I just love the show and wanted to add to the great collection of stories, and there are not a ton about Dutch's life as a child.

I had told them that he had never hurt me before, not in anger. I think that both of them knew enough to know that did not mean I had never been hurt by him. They also knew not to ask. 

Before, often accompanied by glasses of Hokk with Johnny after hard missions, I had told him stories. I told him the good, the bad, and some of the ugly parts of my childhood. But not a lot of the details, not the worst bits. Not even when I was drunk, and my feelings were washing over me like a crushing waterfall.

He knew I had killed, often, and that Khlyen started me young. At eight I didn't understand. But later, later I knew exactly what I was doing, and that I didn't want to. It didn't matter to Khlyen. He told me to ignore my feelings and focus on my duty. 

He always said he did what he did to keep me safe. But his idea of what 'safe' did not mean comfortable, or even unbloodied. 

Everyone has a breaking point. This is the first rule of torture. If the pain keeps going, the person has to talk or risk insanity or death. I am often told I am tough, giving people who wish to get information out of me a challenge. like most of the other things that give me an edge as a killjoy, this particular quality was not with me from the beginning. I learned it the hard way.

When I was twelve years old, Khlyen came to me one afternoon. Deep down I hoped it was only to teach, or to tell a story, as he sometimes had when I was younger. But I knew that the lessons now were harder, using my mind and body in ways I never imagined possible, and sometimes wished were not.

'Come Yala' He said, motioning towards the door of my room. 'It is time to learn something new.'

I got up from where I had been sitting on my floor rug, and followed, keeping my eyes on the floor, hoping he did not notice my reluctance. I knew he would, but he said nothing, walking wordlessly down the hallway. 

We ended up in a room I had been before, although not for a long time. Years, probably. Before I learned to take everything in, to remember everything. There was light, although the room was darkened somewhat by the burgundy curtains on the windows and across the doorway. There was only one way in or out, and two chairs sat in the middle of the room. One was a small stool, plain and make of a dark wood. The other was a hard looking wooden chair with smooth, curving arms. On a tray beside it sat a number of instruments I was quite familiar with. I had used most of them before. A number of knives, pliers, alcohol, a glass of water, salt, and gauze.

He motioned towards the chair with his hand.  
'Sit'

I complied, trying not to imagine what would happen as he tied my wrists to the arms of the chair.

'I have taught you some control already, both of your body and mind. It is time to further your knowledge Yala.'

He picked up one of the knives, and then sat down on the stool facing me. With a small flick of his knife, he made a small cut on my arm. It stung, and I flinched.

'This is important. I do this to protect you. If you learn now how to deal with pain and questioning techniques, your enemies will not be able to use them against you.'

He made a number of other cuts on my arms and hands. Each one hurt, and after the fourth or fifth cut I was having a harder time not crying or yelling out. I knew that I was not to show my weakness. he kept flicking his knife into my skin until blood was dripping off my arms and onto the floor beneath.

I watched as he took the container of salt off the table and pour some into the glass of water. after swirling it around some, he poured the entire cup over my cuts. I could no longer hold my tongue. I screamed.

By this point my attention was no longer entirely on the situation. I didn't notice that my bonds had been cut until he told me to stand. 

I stood, watched the blood pool at my feet, getting more dizzy as the moments went on. I thought I was going to die. I realized later that this was the point. Khlyen would never have put me in true jeopardy. But in order to learn from his 'lessons', I needed to feel the fear, learn to push it back.

'Calm your mind Yala. Let the pain wash over you. Ignore what you are feeling and think.'

I had heard that tone before. His voice was hard, but not cruel. Sometimes I wished it was. Cruel would be easier. The hint of emotion in his voice made me want to please him, make him proud of me. It was almost kindness, or love. I knew in my mind that he was not kind, or loving, but in my heart I felt like he cared. And that made me care. 

I took a deep breath and pushed away the fear, and the light, dizzy feeling in my brain. I focused on his voice, anchoring my feet to the floor.

'Think little bird. Imagine you have just escaped your enemy. How do you escape?'

'I-I... I have to fight past you. There is only one way out.'

'Good. so fight me.'

This I was used to. I fought Khlyen often. He likely went easy on me still at this point in my training, but never easy enough that I knew it. I lunged forward, trying to find an opening. Avoiding his attacks for the most part, I found an opening in his defenses and landed a few solid hits. Once he was on the ground I went to the door. 

'Good Yala. You are learning. Now come back so we can clean you up a bit. Sit'

I turned around and sat back down on the chair. He used the alcohol to clean my cuts out and wrapped my arms in gauze, smiling at me as he did it.

He was proud. I knew this. He did not tell me I had done well if he did not believe it. 

At the time I was pleased with myself. Now I look back wondering how I could be pleased about making that bastard happy for something so vile. I was a child, I didn't know better. I do now. I remember looking into his eyes as he cleaned my wounds, and seeing him. All I can see now is my reflection, and the childhood I wish I had.


End file.
